


A Second Chance

by ScreechTheMighty



Series: some things you will remember [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Bullshit self-indulgent AU, Drunkenness, Gen, Jack is alive somehow fight me, POV Jessica Jones, Post Jessica Jones Season One, Rating for Language, not sure where this fits in relation to the Defenders but w/e, post daredevil season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 18:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9915614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScreechTheMighty/pseuds/ScreechTheMighty
Summary: Jack Murdock forgets that not having a drink in twenty years means his tolerance has probably gone down, has an existential crisis about his parenting abilities while walking home, and proves that some things are genetic by ending up on Jessica Jones's sofa, tipsy and emotional. Second chances are complicated things.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I should be working on revising and finishing all the other fics on here like I said I would. But damn it, I'm having Murdock Family Feels (tm) again, and I started this thing back in JULY at 2:30 in the morning and just never finished it. Time to put this one to bed.

Jessica hadn’t known Jack Murdock for long, but she was observant. It didn’t take a lot of effort to find the various tics and personality quirks he had in common with Matt. Ten years was more than enough time for Matt to pick up a few things from his old man. For example: they both had a habit of opening conversations on the worst, most random note possible.

“I’m a terrible fucking father,” Jack said when Jessica opened the door to her apartment.

She was _so_ not equipped for this.

Jessica sighed, grabbed his arm, and hauled him inside. “Listen,” she said, “there’s a limit on the amount of Catholic guilt I’m willing to listen to per month. Matt’s filled up most of the quota. Are you drunk, or did you get hit in the head?”

“I’m not…” Jack’s burst of indigtation only lasted half a second. “…I’m a little drunk,” he amended. He looked downright ashamed of himself, though she couldn’t tell if it was because of the outburst or the drunkenness. Probably both. “I haven’t had a drink in twenty years. I forgot my limits.”

“Like freshman year all over again, huh?” She pushed him onto the couch— _gently_ pushed. Matt would kill her if she broke his dad. “Just…stay there and don’t throw up. I’ll get you some water.”

One difference between Jack and Matt: Jack was better at listening. He was still sitting on the couch when she came back with a glass of water, his head between his knees like he was about to have a panic attack. She set the water down on the coffee table in front of him. “…what, did you and Matt have a fight?” she asked clumsily. It wasn’t that Jessica didn’t want to help or anything. Jack was pretty okay, and Matt was a friend, so she was basically obligated to be nice to him. She’d just never been good at this emotional shit.

Jack lifted his head and shook it carefully. “No, no, I didn’t… _mean_ to get like this. It was an accident, really. I was just trying to get home…” His hands were shaking as he took the water and had a sip. “And I walked past the…the old building and…” His free hand kept clenching and un-clenching into a fist. She’d seen Matt do that, usually before he started hitting people or when he _really_ wanted to. “The alley…I’m a fucking idiot.”

If this were Matt, she’d be able to get away with saying something like _you definitely are if you blame yourself for getting shot._ She didn’t know how Jack would handle that, so she shrugged and tried the _supportive_ route instead. “Matt doesn’t…he’s not mad about it.”

“No, he just thinks it’s his fault.” Jessica raised an eyebrow. That wasn’t news to her, but how did _Jack_ know? That seemed like the kind of secret Matt would take to his grave, and he was usually pretty good at that. Jack returned her raised eyebrow with an irritated glare. “What, you think I don’t know? He’s my fucking kid. I know when he thinks something is his fault. He’s…he shouldn’t do that.”

“Yeah, we’ve been telling him that. He blames himself for everything.” She finally sat down on the opposite end of the couch. “Pretty sure that’s someone else’s fault. Not yours.”

“I should’ve been there for him.”

“You got shot. You couldn’t exactly help it.”

Jack huffed—another Matt-like moment—and drained the glass of water in one go. Straight up chugged it. “You don’t know.”

“Don’t know what? What it’s like getting shot?”

“What it’s like when you have kids. I was...” Jack put the glass down and clasped his hands tightly, like he was trying to avoid grabbing onto something. “I had a match, the night Matt was born. Got my ass handed to me. I go home, and…neighbor tells me Maggie went to the hospital.” Maggie. Matt’s mystery mom. “I get there, just in time for him to show up, and…”

The tension in Jack’s shoulders unwound; his eyes softened at the memory. “I thought I’d be scared. I’d been scared shitless for nine months, y’know, and I thought…he was little. He got chubby later on, but he started off small and…” Jessica tried to picture it when Jack paused again. Her mental image of Matt as a baby had the same perpetual, worried frown that adult Matt had. “He was so little, and my hands were all beat up, and I was holding him…and I thought I’d be scared, but I knew what I had to do. That I’d do anything to keep him safe. And from then on out, it’s just…” The tension came back. “You can’t be selfish when you’re a parent, y’know, you gotta think about your kid first, and I _did_ , I tried to, but I wasn’t really thinking about him that night. I was thinking about me. I won that match…for _me_. And they shot me for it, and  he was alone for twenty goddamn years because I was a selfish idiot.”

Okay. The way Jessica saw this, she had two options. There was the kid glove treatment, which she _sucked_ at, and didn’t look like it was working anyway. Or, she could take the option her gut was telling her to go for: the bitch treatment.

“Yeah, you’re right,” she said. “You fucked up.” Jack lifted his head to shoot her a look—not offended, not even angry, but so _baffled_ it was almost funny. “You made a stupid decision and you died. But y’know what? You’re back now.” Jessica crossed her arms and leaned back on the couch, fixing a stern glare on Jack. “Most people don’t get that kind of second chance. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s just you, that shield jockey, and his buddy with the metal arm. So, you can either waste time feeling sorry for yourself, or you can man up, be a good father, and fix it. Cut the pity party and be there for him now.”

Jack’s face scrunched into a frown. “…Christ on toast, you don’t pull any punches, do you?” he said finally.

“I don’t like wasting time on bullshit.”

The frown vanished as Jack laughed. “Yeah, Matt said you didn’t.” He leaned back on the couch, too. His hands knotted anxiously in his lap—another gesture she was used to seeing from Matt. It was uncanny. “He thinks you’re great. He told me.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, no offense, but your kid’s a sap.” That got another laugh out of him. “What else is he saying about me?”

“I think his exact words were, _She plays a tough game, but she’s really nice under all that._ ”

“Oh, _god_.” He _would_. Asshole. “He needs to stop saying that shit before people start believing it.”

“I can tell everyone your bedside manner sucks, if that helps.”

“Please, do. I have a reputation to maintain.”

“All right, all right. You’re not… _wrong_ , though. You weren’t wrong.” Jack’s smile faded. “You really…you really think I can make it work this time?”

“…you planning on getting shot again?”

“No. _God_ , no.”

“Then you’ll be fine. Not like you need to change his diapers anymore. Just…” She shrugged. “Be there. Do Dad shit. I don’t know.”

Jack grunted and slouched further on the couch cushions.  His eyes wandered around the apartment; she expected him to comment on the general disrepair and the empty bottles. Instead, he asked, “He really doesn’t blame me?”

“…he doesn’t. Actually, he adores you. It’s cute.” Sarcasm. Her last refuge when she didn’t know what to say. “You should probably talk to him about the…him blaming himself thing. He might listen if he hears it from you.”

Jack grunted again—this time quieter, contemplative. He shifted as he pulled something out of his pocket. Keys. He started rubbing his thumb against the ridges of one of the keys, back and forth. Back and forth. “Hey, Jones?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks for not bullshitting me.” She snorted in response. “No, I mean it. I’ll talk to Matt when I’m sober.” He rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “God, I should head home. He’s gonna worry if he gets back before me.”

“You want me to walk you home?”

“Please?” He struggled to get up. It was kind of pathetic to watch, so Jessica held out a hand to help him. “Thanks…you know how to get to his place, right? I barely found my way here.”

“I’ve got it.”

He didn’t bother her about locking the door—maybe because he hadn’t noticed, or maybe because Matt had told him not to worry about. They walked in silence. She thought she heard Jack humming a few times, and he flinched when a cop car drove past them with the sirens going. She patted his arm awkwardly and kept an eye on the rooftops. Maybe Matt would see them while he was running around doing whatever it was he did. She hoped not. She didn’t want to explain why his dad was drunk and hanging around with her. If Matt was up there, he didn’t stop them. And he wasn’t home when they reached the apartment. Jack looked equal parts relieved and disappointed. “Hope he doesn’t need stitches tonight,” he muttered.

“He’s got Claire for that. Sleep it off.” She pushed him gently towards the sofa. It was weird and awkward, but she hovered in the hallway that led to the door until she saw him collapse onto the sofa. He was out pretty much instantly after that. “Least he’s not sappy when he’s drunk,” she muttered to herself as she headed out the door and pulled out her phone.

_[Text] your dad is drunk. try not to wake him up when you get home_

The reply text came very quickly.

_[Text from: dd] Is he okay_

_[Text] yeah he just can’t hold his scotch. and he’s emotional. you're definitely his kid_

_[Text from: dd] Shut up Jess_

_[Text from: dd] Seriously is he okay_

_[Text] I walked him back to your place he’s just sleeping it off_

_[Text] don’t do anything stupid without luke or danny_

_[Text from: dd] Yes mom_

_[Text from: dd] And thanks_

She nearly replied with _you’re lucky I like you_. But that seemed too mean, even for their weird dynamic. So she just sent _you’re welcome_ and kept walking home. She wondered which alley Jack had been shot in—if it looked anything like what it had twenty years ago. She wondered what she’d do if her dad came back. Her mom. Phillip.

She didn’t let her think about that for too long.

Matt and Jack knew how lucky they were. Jessica didn’t doubt that. But you could know you were lucky and still waste the opportunity. She hoped they didn’t.

She really hoped they didn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Jessica is going to start charging Matt and Jack for therapy hours, I swear she is.


End file.
